


canaries (maybe a little bigger)

by Wino



Series: The Darcy fix no one asked for [19]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clint observes the mating ritual of birds, Darcy is also awkward, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Magical Creature!Darcy, Natasha is awkward, POV Clint Barton, Phoenix!Darcy, They both need a Hug, because the author worldbuilds, there's is also a lot of history lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wino/pseuds/Wino
Summary: Nat made an indecipherable noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between frustrated and furious, and he pressed on the gas pedal of the car. He internally agreed. F*ck.Or, the Phoenix AU we were all waiting for (or not), where Darcy is an immortal awkward bean and it's on Clint not to just give up and send everybody where the sun-!





	canaries (maybe a little bigger)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Dresupi!  
> Seriously, I hope this was a great day?
> 
> I'm aware this isn't on your list, and I actually got you a Darcy/Wanda two weeks ago so yeah, I hope Darcy/Nat will do.  
> Also, not overly fluffy because it's from a third person's point of view, but I hope you enjoy it all the same? 
> 
>  
> 
> **For everyone else passing by, please enjoy your stay, I hope you like it!**

He did not see that coming.

Clint Barton was a professional, an elite.

He’d been doing ops for a long time, and his partner, the infamous Black Widow, had been on the trade much longer than he’d been.

The plan was simple enough. Natasha would do the hard part, infiltration, and he’d just need to be perched right in front of the window, ready to intercept the package and, if needed, clean up the messes.

So when Natasha contacted him later, saying in a very pissed off half chewed Russian that the target had already been stolen by someone else and that the mob would now be looking for _them instead,_ he should have expected the day to end up much worse.

The fact that somebody had gotten there before them threw him for a loop, too. He’d staked the place out for weeks before attempting to send Natasha in, and he hadn’t noticed anyone else doing the same (and yes, he would have noticed).

“How ‘gone’ are we talking about, Nat?” He asked once they were safely inside their getaway car.

“I don’t know. Everything was fine, nothing out of place, but the key to the safe was gone, and it wasn’t on him.” She spat venomously. She’d worked on her cover for days and made the doe eyes at the big walrus all evening for nothing.

“Okay.” Clint was tempted to pat her knee, but she’d probably hit him. She was always quick to violence after an op. “So whoever’s got the key is going for the safe as soon as possible. We just need to intercept them and get the files.”

Nat made an indecipherable noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between frustrated and furious, and he pressed on the gas pedal of the car. He internally agreed. _Fuck._

* * *

 

Did he say he didn’t see that coming?

Because if the first event of the evening had been unlikely, if at all possible, this was downright absurd. He’d have Nat force him to get a checkup when they were back to SHIELD.

The safe was empty. _Everything_ was gone.

Natasha cursed from behind him. “Sloppy,” she said, her lips curling into an almost snarl. He’d have laughed at the face hadn’t the situation been so serious.

But the woman was right. Taking the whole content of Vasilevich’s safe was risky. And very stupid. The jewels could hardly be sold anywhere without pinging the system, so couldn’t the weapons, and neither could be smuggled out of the border. And of course, the data they’d been looking for was gone too.

They searched the whole office and put everything upside down, but nothing. There was no trace of the files, not even in hard copy. It was like whoever had come had simply emptied the safe and taken anything that was within without even checking.

“What in the world are they going to do with information on those recycling bases…” he wondered.

“Nothing good,” Natasha said crisply. “We need to report to Coulson immediately, it’s worse than we thought.”

He nodded, “we need to leave.”

“Why? You just got there, after all!”

He had his gun trained on the voice before he even saw who was talking. Natasha had two.

It was a woman… or maybe not, he wasn’t really sure.

She looked like a woman, but her hair was covered in red bronze plumage and she even had a train, much like a peacock, that extended from her lower back down to the ground. In her arms were the papers and data they were looking for.

“Hi!” she chirped to him, then her gaze shifted to his partner. Her eyes swept over her and she smiled wider, “well, hello.”

“Who are you?” Hawkeye didn’t relax his grip on the gun.

The feathered woman didn’t even look at it. She just sauntered over the safe and carefully put the papers back. Natasha cocked her gun. “Don’t fire that, honey,” said the woman. “It doesn’t quite work as intended on me, and we don’t want this place to blow up, yes? Would be quite the pity.”

His friend’s eyebrow quirked up in challenge.

Okay, this was escalating quickly.

“No one is looking for blowing anything up. Nobody,” he stressed again, because the woman just kept staring at him. “Who are you?” he repeated.

The woman shrugged. “Someone very busy that should totally be somewhere else and who got something by mistake... sssso,” her long tail shook a bit. It didn’t look dangerous, and the woman didn’t sound hostile, but Hawkeye couldn’t decide if the dangerous parts were the human or bird ones. “I’ll be on my way, it was just _brilliant_ to meet you.” She took another long look at Natasha, a brief glance at him, and in a second she was engulfed in golden flames. She was gone.

They stared at the empty spot for a full ten seconds, before Natasha holstered one gun and cautiously made her way to the safe. She grabbed the files with her left hand and deftly perused the material.

“...They’re genuine,” she exclaimed surprised. “They’re the real thing.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Clint nodded. “We’ve wasted too much time here, let’s go.”

They locked the safe and left from the vents they’d used before.

When the alarms started sounding in the building, they were already two blocks away.

“So Nat…” he started conversationally. “What the fuck do we write in our report?”

* * *

 

“What kind of robber takes the single most useless pieces, and leaves the goldmine?” They were on their way back, and the seat of the plane was a relief after so much bullshitting their plans. Natasha wasn’t probably talking to him, but he felt like he should answer anyways.

“A sloppy one?” he asked rhetorically. “Frankly I’m surprised this is what you’re focusing on and not, I don’t know, _the feathers and the tail, maybe?!”_

Natasha scoffed. “I’ve seen more feathers in a burlesque number, honestly.” Point. “And the disappearing act might very well be a trick. And if it weren’t the case, I’ve seen stronger powers than flashing in and out of a place.”

Clint agreed. The woman… young woman? bird? didn’t seem a professional. Of course, the disappearing trick was a fancy one. Flashy, but very useful. It was probably the reason he hadn’t noticed anyone going in and out.

“Man, Coulson’s never going to believe this.” He grumbled. “He’s going to send us to Guatemala _again_ because we let a potential hostile go.”

“I don’t know, I quite liked her,” Natasha added cheerfully.

“You just liked her because she flirted with you!” Clint argued back.

“She’s a smart one,” his friend nodded, satisfied.

* * *

 

“Is this a joke?”

Coulson wasn’t impressed with his report, and Clint couldn’t really fault him this time, despite being truthful. It just was very difficult to explain. So his handler promptly discarded the report and turned to Natasha’s, which was usually more reliable. It wasn’t this time.

“No sir,” said Natasha. “There really was a strange woman that stole everything before giving back the documents. She apparently had other targets in mind.” His partner would never let that go. Even he had started questioning if they had missed some important item in that safe, something even more important than the counterfeiting bases. “She didn’t look organized and could be a coincidence, she wasn’t hostile,” she expanded.

Coulson nodded. “We’ll check that, and keep an eye on the situation. We’ll have to assume she’s not hostile for now, and maybe we’ll never hear from her again, but it would be stupid of us to dismiss something so peculiar because the mission went summarily well.”

* * *

‘’ One-time occurrence.”

Of course, that wasn’t the case.

They met her in Jakarta, twice in DC, once in London, each and every time looking very out of place and yet exactly where she wanted to be and enjoying every second of it. She’d sweep the jewels and any other valuable, flirt with Nat, smile vaguely and disappear.

Clint had to give it to her, she never appeared whenever they needed to _really_ focus, and always left them plenty of time to beat it before actually speaking to them. According to the bird-girl, she liked to watch and she was having a lot of fun.

He had to admit, the feathered thief had started to grow on him, despite the mouth she had on her, her unwillingness to talk to him and her less than refined commentary.

Natasha was having the time of her life, the troll.

Clint was convinced half of the flirting and innuendos the two shared was made at his expenses, and he couldn’t even stay annoyed at them for long. He’d noticed how people moved around Nat during her stay with SHIELD. First came the fear, then the awe, then the nice guys started flocking to her, and he’d watched with perverse pleasure as the Russian woman had taken down every entitled asshole that had come her way. And now the rookies and the nice guys steered clear of her. After a while, most of the agents had started to give her a wide berth. She didn’t seem to mind too much, but after a while, he could see how it weighed on her. He made a point to stick close to her, but he could see how her face lit up when the bird spoke to her like they were old friends.

It had become a game of sorts between them, to behave like they knew each other, despite not even knowing each other’s names.

Of course, that got them no information whatsoever, as Coulson and even Hill had reminded him very firmly, and he was expected to actually _give them something._

“Who or what are you and what do you want?”

He sighed very deeply after he’d said this. It was such a redundant obligation. Every time he’d asked the question the woman had rebuffed him laughing, _what good would it do to ask once again?_ He silently wondered.

And in fact, the woman mockingly repeated the question and simply turned her back to them to leave; she was never on board with explaining herself.

Well, his job was done.

Natasha pointed her gun to their feathered stalker but then holstered it; it was more of a reflex anyway. “You’re not human, are you?” She continued, seemingly unbothered by the lack of response. The woman stopped and smiled, _delighted,_ to his partner. “Not very, no.”

_Holy Shit she was responding_. That was a first. They should have let Natasha conduct the questioning _ages ago._

“What are you looking for?” The spy continued.

The woman shrugged. “Nothing important to you.” And they were back to square one.

But Natasha didn’t seem to care, she nodded and asked again. “What’s your favourite colour?” _What? What?!_ Clint couldn’t whip his head towards his partner because taking his eyes off the now-declared-not-human woman with teleporting powers was a stupid decision, but he glanced at her very quickly. Why ask such a stupid, non-consequential question?

“Gold,” the woman replied without hesitation.

“Are you always stealing golden objects?” Nat fired back.

“Of course!” The bird answered. “Silver dulls with time and it doesn’t quite match my feathers now, does it?”

“...Right, of course, that was a silly question.” The bird was nodding along, clearly, the matching of colour was important to her. “Is gold the only thing you’ll go for?”

The woman thought about it for a second before shaking her head. That was the _most_ Clint had seen her speak without flirting. “If it’s _really_ pretty I could make an exception,” aaaand no that wasn’t a serious answer by the heated gaze she sent Natasha’s way.

And so it went, with continuous banter and supremely stupid questions like ‘do you eat cereals?’ or ‘what do you like in a gemstone?’. The thief was extremely pleased with all the attention she was getting outside of the usual quips, and was being more helpful than ever.

When she left, however, the safe was empty again. Clint was so done with this. He was just glad they didn’t need anything from it, this time.

“Whoops, sorry.” The woman ‘flamed’ back again, put clumsily back some velvet cushion and departed, blowing a kiss in their direction.

“...Right,” he drawled. “Because the cushion is exactly what we needed.”

But Natasha wasn’t listening. She was patting the velvet with her gloved hands and looking speculatively at the space between the thing and the roof of the shelf.

“I know what was in there,” she breathed after a few minutes. “I know what was in there.” She repeated louder.

Clint looked at her in askance.

She smiled at him, and it was her victorious smile. She held a small, shiny elephant in her hand. “It was the Royal Danish.”

* * *

 

Clint was trying very hard not to look too smug, but he probably failed.

He could see why Coulson was feeling sceptical about the whole plan, but he agreed simple was probably best.

If the bird girl was after the Fabergé eggs, as Nat suspected, she couldn’t leave a piece of her treasure behind. He wasn’t exactly sure how she broke it, because the jewel wasn’t supposed to break that way, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

Not when they could use the information to simply set a trap.

A part of him was slightly uneasy at the idea of trying to capture what was probably a kid who was just having fun, but he could see Fury’s point. If the bird girl was hostile or wasn’t just having fun, that could be a problem they needed to evaluate. And soon.

So, SHIELD procured them another supposedly ‘lost egg’ and set it in the middle of a highly secured department in one of their bogus enterprises, making sure to discreetly spread the voice around.

Natasha wasn’t impressed with them all. At all.

He understood her point, too.

Anyway, the trap was set, Nat refused to be part of it (and part of him was proud she was saying no even if _Coulson_ had told her to do it) and so he was going to stake the egg’s room and see if they were right.

They were.

At roughly eleven to midnight, golden flames rose into the surveilled room and the girl happily sauntered out.

It took her five seconds to realize the room was empty apart from the egg’s glass case, and another ten to notice him hiding in the vents. She smiled impishly and waved at his incredulous expression.

“Haaaai,” her smile was all teeth, and Hawkeye idly wondered if birds even had teeth, “is your friend here?”

He snorted, figures she’d be looking for Nat. “Nope, sorry, just you and me.”

The girl pouted and her eyes filled with huge tears.

Maybe they hadn’t really thought this through. The girl usually ignored all of his questions and clearly favoured his friend.

“Did she not like my present?” she asked, and he blinked. “Present?”

Did she mean the golden encrusted elephant?

“I took it out of the egg just for her,” she was whining to herself, because she wasn’t looking at Clint anymore, instead focusing on the glass case that held what she’d been looking for in the first place. “-but she’s so difficult to track and she’s soooo- what are you even supposed to give as a gift? I don’t think twigs make the cut anymore…”.

He dropped from the vents, gaping at the idea that somebody could destroy a golden jewel encrusted with stones to give the top _as a present. To Nat._

Aaaand now he was feeling guilty, because the moment the girl touched the case, she was going to be trapped and he’d feel like a dick.

Was he going to warn her? Ugh, if Nat found out the girl was following them to be her friend and they’d captured her to… he had actually no idea what Fury was going to do with her. She was never going to forgive him.

“Hey kid!” he called just as she was about to remove the case, “don’t… just, don’t take it, yeah?” he finished lamely.

She stopped, and looked at him strangely.

Then, her mouth curled into the most dangerous looking smile he’d ever seen, almost as if he was looking at a Harry Potter Veela, and she honest to God melted the tempered glass and steel case.

The Egg floated resignedly into her waiting hands.

She winked at him, and her face was back to her pleased, curious and young self, “why thank you!” she nodded, and in a second of flames she was gone.

He gaped, then groaned. Damn his conscience.

_Coulson was going to kill him._

* * *

 

The next day, a sapphire ring that according to a very mad Fury was contained in the stolen egg, was found in front of Nat’s SHIELD private room. Along with a very golden, very long tail feather.

* * *

 

Nat still wasn’t speaking to him, but having warned the bird off had gained him some brownie points, because she had left some bones undamaged in their latest sparring sessions.

He was bruised all over, but bruises he could deal with.

They had yet to leave for another mission, and he was glad they could sort their differences outside of the field (not that Nat couldn’t be a professional, she was ten times the spy he was, but the bird situation was making her mad and touchy in inexplicable ways).

“Stand up, Clint,” she huffed, when he refused to leave the floor. He wasn’t standing for another round. Hey, at least she was talking to him.

“Noooo, let me and the floor be better acquainted, Nat,” he whined.

“You do know that hitting people while they’re down is my job, right?”

He scrambled up, his whole body groaning with the effort. “What the fuck, Nat, I think you actually broke something this time.” It wasn’t true, he was just one big bruise.

“You’ll live,” she sniffed.

He usually did.

They were finally talking when Rumlow called them from behind. “Barton, Romanov. Coulson wants you in his office.”

* * *

 

“Ah, oui, très intéressant,” ‘Louis Martin’ nodded politely at the giggling host.

This time, he was the one undercover.

Pretending to be a rich enterpreneur was actually quite easy, once you could fake the French accent and just ignore the doe eyes made at you.

And the fancy champagne.

Switzerland was a beautiful, fiscal paradise. And it was absolutely perfect to hide a base of operation.

After over six months of stolen data, SHIELD had finally cracked the code and could now breach into Vasilevich’s underground smuggling circle.

It usually would be something of less importance to the spy organization, something to be let alone because really, why bother? But lately, the dealer had put his fingers into one pie too many, namely mutants and mutates. It could no longer be ignored.

Unfortunately for them, Natasha was an already known face, and that left him.

He vapidly smiled at yet another woman and winked suggestively. If only he weren’t forced to wear ties. He was probably going to suffocate and Nat was going to laugh about it _(I get into more uncomfortable dresses, Clint. Suck it up and wear the tie)_.

And then he saw her.

As subtle as an over-decorated Christmas Tree, with a deep gold dress, was the bird girl.

She looked as surprised to see him as he was. _What the fuck was she doing here?!_

Clint was certain it was her.

Okay, there were no feathers in sight, and her hair was actually a rich brown instead of the usual molten flame, but he could never mistake that face. Or the carefully fabricated smile as she laughed airily at something that was said around her.

“Nat, do you see what I see?” he whispered, hiding his mouth behind the champagne _flûte_.

His comm produced a crackling sound that almost made him deaf twice over. It was never a good combination with his hearing aids and yet they insisted he use it anyway. “I see her,” came Nat’s reply over the static.

“We need to know what she’s doing here, Clint. If we got it wrong-” Yeah, he could fill in the blanks for that. If they had miscalculated and the bird was actually involved with Vasilevich, it was going to be hell in a basket.

He excused himself and made his way towards the gaggle of rich and posh people surrounding the woman in gold.

“Ah, Monsieur Martin!” simpered one of the many women he had greeted during the party, “avez-vous fait connaissance avec Mademoiselle Zlata? Elle est une célèbre chanteuse russe!” she gushed, and he politely inclined his head towards the woman in gold. ‘Zlata’ was as Russian as he was, but her knowing smirk reminded him he was still undercover, and she hadn’t busted him, yet.

He plastered his smile firmly on his face and pretended to be completely interested in the conversation.

* * *

 

Clint managed to corner ‘Zlata’ only one full hour later.

When he did, he almost grabbed her by the arm. She followed him gamely, smiling and nodding and waving at everybody who noticed her.

This girl was frustrating on so many levels.

“Ah-ah, monsieur,” she tutted, “Ils vont penser que vous allez m'enlever.” Her smile turned sharp. “Et comment va ta jolie soeur?”

“Cut the crap,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

She huffed, “the point of all this is to play, Louis, or should I say,  _Clint_?”

“This is not a game, _Zlata_ ,” he stressed. If the girl’s name was Zlata he was eating his tie. He sort of hoped...

“Of course it is!” she said, utterly bewildered, “I’ve been playing it for a very long time, and it’s the best game.”

“Is Zlata even your real name?”

She blinked, “it was. Once. But we’re talking a long time ago. I still use it, of course, I _am_ a popular singer after all. But,” she shrugged, “who knows?”

Once again, she was leaving him speechless (and despite trying very hard, he couldn’t even be mad).

“ _How long has she played the game?_ ” Nat’s voice whispered through the comm.

The change in Zlata’s features was instantaneous. She brightened all of sudden, zeroing on the comm as if it was in plain sight. “ _There_ you are,” she said, “did you like my present?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side, and the connection was dropped.

“Aww, man. Did I get this one wrong, too?” she pouted.

Clint snorted. “Can’t you ever focus on one thing? Like answering my questions for once?”

“Not really, no. It’s no fun.”

“Humour me,” he absently grabbed another champagne glass and handed it to her.

She sniffed it, made a disgusted noise and let it rest on the windowsill without drinking. “Will you humour me, too?”

The spy frowned. That was more suspicious than he’d like. He wasn’t going to give her classified information or anything related to the mission. “I can’t agree to that, you know that. Classifi-”

She laughed, then, a bell-like laugh that made heads turn and people smile even if they hadn’t heard a word. “You misunderstand, of course,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I have no interest in your work, _monsieur._ ”

His frown was back. This made no sense. What could she possibly wa- _oh_. “You have questions about Nat.”

Her smile widened. “Humour me. You can go first, if you want.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked right away.

She pouted, “it sounds less like a game when you do that. But I suppose I could tell you,” she looked around the room, glancing at the guests and her gaze fixed on one of the insufferable men he’d been introduced to, “that man? He’s Monsieur De La Grace. He’s old money, of course, could probably trace his genes back to one of the old Dauphines, if we wanted to get very long about it all. Let’s just say he’s got something of mine, and I’m going to get it back.” Her tone of voice hadn’t changed one iota, despite her very calmly saying she was planning a crime.

Clint kind of admired that.

“What does he have?”

The woman chuckled, “let’s just say it’s something your friend is very acquainted with. It does come from Mother Russia, just like us. Or, maybe not. It’s been some time since I last saw it, and there was still Nikolaj around. Mh. Something to ponder.”

He gaped, “wait, your name is really Zlata?”

Her laughter increased in volume once more. She wasn’t exactly braying, but it was almost hysterical. “Zlata works just like any other. We don’t do names, they mean nothing to me,” she shrugged. Her eyes turned to him. “Now, I do believe it’s my turn.”

He almost gulped, but yeah, it technically was hers.

“What do humans give to other humans to get to know each other better?”

* * *

 

Was he going to need to book bird behaviour books now?

He wasn’t paid nearly enough for this.

Okay, so there was some kind of… girl, who actually identified as a bird (and despite the fact that now teenagers identified with everything, this time it could actually be very real), who actually was not a girl, more like a woman? She was around during the Russian Empire, and Nat had been born just a few years after the Russian Revolution, so he assumed she was older. Possibly much older.

Just how much older? And she liked playing. If she was that old, possibly ancient, it was logical to assume she was some kind of immortal and this sort of game was actually her drug of choice for the boredom.

At least until she got her eyes on them (especially Natasha).

It was a very unusual development all around.

Ugh, he had even more questions now!

The tie couldn’t come off soon enough, he was done with it. As focused as he was on Zlata, he’d almost lost his mark, who was now in the company of a very uncomfortable looking escort. The man, however, was tailed by two burly bodyguards that he couldn’t take down in public.

Back to waiting it was.

Clint Barton perched on the roof of the building opposite the hotel, his tux forgotten somewhere in one of the alleys, and waited in the shadows.

He was going to find something to spend the next… two hours on, apparently.

“Coulson won’t like the fact that you spread your cover all over the Romandy, Clint.” Natasha dropped soundlessly beside him.

He grunted and she got closer. “Sorry for leaving you alone there,” she said apologetically, “I thought I’d blow your cover. I cut the feed as soon as she heard me.”

Clint shrugged, “I managed. Mind, your friend Zlata almost made me lose the mark, but I managed.”

“...Zlata her name?” Natasha never commented on possible mistakes if the results were positive, no need to remind professionals how to do their job. God knew he would never butt in her business.

“Doubt it, but she was adamant we could call her ‘Tracy’ or ‘Mary’ and she wouldn’t care. Ah, also, she’s not human. Like, magical-creature-that-can-mimic-a-human non-human.”

“Huh,” and yep, he was as nonplussed as she was.

“Did she even tell you what she was doing there, since she was that talkative?”

“If she was being honest,” Clint sighed, “she’s here to steal something from some Dauphin descendant. Says it’s something that belonged to Mother Russia and she wants it back.”

At these words, Natasha stiffened.

“She’s Russian.”

He nodded, “she says she was in possession of this ‘thing’ she wouldn’t name since the times of Nikolaj,” he watched his friend’s eyes widen more and more. “Do you think she meant the first or the second?”

His partner wasn’t breathing anymore. Her eyes wide with wonder and her mouth agape.

“Zhar-ptitsa,” she breathed.

“Czar-bird?” he parroted sceptically, “she’s the bird of the dead Czar?”

“No, no,” she hit his arm, “ _Zhar_. Firebird. I thought it was _just a legend._ ”

Clint groaned. “You gotta elaborate here, Nat. I can’t read your mind… yet.”

She clicked her tongue impatiently. “It’s an old legend. According to the story, Ivan the third child captured a firebird, a magical bird whose immortality could light an entire kingdom, for it was born out of fire. He then ‘gifted’ it to the Czar, who kept it in his Winter Palace ever since. Of course, it was believed to be bullshit. Nobody had ever even seen one, never you mind actually keeping one in the palace!” she scoffed, “where would the Romanov hide it, seriously?”

“And yet,” he said.

“And yet.” Natasha nodded. “If this is a thing… I can’t imagine where they’d keep one. They supposedly don’t do well if you keep them far from shiny things or caged. Don’t you think people would notice an entirely golden room-” her mouth dropped open, “there _was_ one in the palace.”

“Was there?” he played along. He didn’t put much stock in this theory, but Natasha was clearly going somewhere with her memories and he wasn’t going to put a stop to that. Also, she had been right about the Fabergé eggs, so she was the expert right now.

“Yes!” The idea of a magical bird was shaking her deeper than he thought, because she was talking a mile a minute, alternating Russian to English as she mumbled her theory away.

“-and it was lost when the Nazi invaded but, yes. It makes sense, the-”

“Jantarnaja Komnata, yes.”

He immediately turned and pointed his weapon. Natasha didn’t bother anymore.

“Haaai,” the firebird smiled.

“We were having a private conversation,” he sighed deeply. His friend had already clammed up, and nothing of her speculative wonder was left on her face.

‘Zlata’ actually winced at that, “...sorry? Not used to private human interaction. I’m usually very in public whenever I look like this. And the centre of attention, too.” She subtly glanced at Natasha and blushed.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the redhead wasn’t really looking at her.

The bird sighed, “I ought to leave. Sorry again.”

“Wait,” Natasha said quickly, frowning. The bird woman turned. “You have a public persona. Is there a way to contact you without resorting to the theft of priceless artefacts?”

The woman brightened, delighted. “I gave Clint my number. But also, please know that those eggs are mine, I’m not stealing them.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “they belonged to the Imperial Family.”

“Exactly. And who’s left of them? Me. The pet, if you will. It doesn’t change the fact that they belong to me, darling. I’m sure that’s how Wills work.”

The sauntering flirt was back. The firebird winked, and left in a flash of flame.

Okay, it was official. It was never-ending.

This… game of sort. She was going to steal every single egg and possibly even recover this mysteriously lost Amber Chamber and then maybe every person on this planet with the surname ‘Romanov’... wait.

“Is she going to steal people?” he wondered aloud.

Natasha scoffed. “Let’s get back to staking, Barton.”

* * *

 

_“Give me the number, Clint.”_

_He choked on his saliva. “What? Nat, are you serious?”_

_“She’s a Firebird, there’s nothing we can do to stop her. Besides, she’ll reincarnate when her five hundred years cycle is over and she’ll disappear. There’s nothing that can contain a firebird. Besides, she’s fun.”_

* * *

 

Natasha and the woman who was actually a phoenix started texting.

All the time.

And shit if Clint had ever seen her so happy.

He could swear he’d heard giggling once.

They spoke about anything and everything. According to Nat, the bird was an honest to God gold mine of information, having known pretty much everyone who was anyone in the world. And it was generally good to keep up with times.

Clint just went along with this explanation, because the recipe for the original meals the Czar used to share with her back in the twenties was totally important information.

He was happy for his friend.

Fury had given up with trying to capture find or recruit the magical creature.

That was just fine.

Also, the _packages_ had started coming.

The first one was tiny, and Clint laughed uproariously at the sight of the tiny twigs tucked inside.

The next had been a kitchen knife, followed by many other knives.

The latest one had contained Vodka. _The good one._

“Is she actually making a kept woman out of you, Nat?” Clint waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Natasha huffed, “don’t be silly.”

“Well, I don’t know,” he joked, “with all these courting gifts, one would think she’d have made an honest woman out of you, and yet…”

At this, Natasha blushed a deep scarlet he had… he had never seen on her face. “Wait… _are you blushing?!_ ” He almost squealed.

“I will hit you, Clint.”

“Oh my God you are! Look at you, lo- Wait, no, Nat, I was kidding-!”

* * *

 

“So. This looks bad.”

Bad didn’t really cover it.

They were chained. In a dungeon. With no backup.

This looked really bad.

Natasha growled under her breath, her wrists clamped together behind her back and chained to the wall.

“Vasilevich’s going to run,” she spat viciously, her eyes blazing.

Ah yes, that was another thing that looked bad. Not that Clint was very focused on that, since his imminent death seemed a tad more urgent right now.

Outside their cell door, two of Vasilevich’s henchmen cackled. They were probably going to finish them both once their boss was out of range of eventual repercussions.

Clint was actually pretty impressed with the whole setup. The trap and the gas that had somehow worked on Natasha too. Very impressed.

If only that wasn’t, like, his last hour or so.

“...Is this another thing I shouldn’t interrupt or…?” A voice whispered behind him, as if trying not to be noticed by the other occupant of the cell.

Hawkeye was going to _kiss_ that bird. Once they got out.

* * *

 

Nat was openly laughing at him.

Like, full-on belly laugh.

“It’s not funny.”

“Please,” she snorted, “it’s hilarious. It took you two weeks to notice Darcy Lewis and the Firebird were one the same. You knew her face. And it was even your home turf!”

“Oh yes, because you actually expect a fucking Russian firebird to be found in New Mexico baking Pop Tarts for an astrophysicist?” he challenged. It was an honest mistake, and even Coulson’s check hadn’t pinged anything in the system.

“Sure I did. I knew she was there. You know? We text.”

He gaped, speechless and she dissolved into another peal of laughter.

“Funny. Very funny.”

* * *

 

A couple of years later, Clint wondered how it had escalated so quickly.

Natasha and… Darcy? (He didn’t know, he didn't even want to know, okay? She probably responded if he called her Shirley, so) were now living together at Stark’s, and he was probably going to join them once this mission was over.

His cell phone beeped.

It was a message from Darcy.

It was one of her stupid selfies, her lips painted red and her knowing smirk mocking him while he was sweating his balls off in Argentina.

But then he noticed the background and his mouth dropped open.

Behind the bed, where Natasha’s sleeping form could be made out from the curled up sheets, were, neatly displayed on tiny little shelves, the whole fifty-nine fucking Eggs.

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been an interesting experiment?  
> I feel like I could expand on this AU, maybe on a Nat and Darcy pov, but so far I'm not totally unhappy with how this turned out?  
> There is like... so much useless information in this fiction I don't even know where to start.  
> I suggest using Wikipedia for The Amber Chamber, The Fabergé eggs and the Firebird legend (then expand to 'Phoenix').  
> Not because I don't want to overly share my research (I love sharing my stuff!), but it would honestly take too much space in these notes and I need it for my usual thanks and notes.
> 
> Note on the Language.  
> *The French is mine. The wonderful usedkarma checked over some parts for me and the beautiful Aunbrey checked other parts, and without them, it would have been a proper mess.  
> I think it's quite readable, but in case I'm willing to add subtitles.  
> *The Russian is also mine, but I had nobody to check it over for me but it's actually only 2 words which I assume are alright.  
> * Vasilevich is a made up Slavic name.  
> * Zlata is a Slavic name that uses the root of the word "gold".
> 
> Notes on the Canon.  
> This is clearly pre-Iron Man events, and ends right after Avengers.
> 
> **I hope you enjoyed it?** It's quite different from my late works, but hey it was kinda fun **please leave a comment and make my day**


End file.
